My father appears last, pulling up a chair. Quiet as always, his gaze is assessing. “DK.”
“Hi, Dad.”
Having all six eyes focused on me feels like sitting under a microscope. They’re searching for cracks, some sign I’m burning myself out again. I rub the back of my neck and slip into my usual report.
“I’m not overworking. I’m sleeping better. Going to the gym. Hanging out with Ash. All normal things. “I take a breath and go for the main event. “And… I met someone.”
“Halala!” Gogo brightens. “I knew it. A face doesn’t lie.”
“Tell us about her,” Mom says, her curiosity immediate.
“She’s… incredible.” The word feels too small for Luna. “Smart. Funny. Driven. She has a huge heart and fights for what she believes in. She lights up a room just by standing in it.”
“Ubonakala emuhle ngaphakathi,” Mom says, clapping softly. “You see the soul. What’s her name?”
“Rayne.”
“Strong name,” Gogo says. “A good start. When did you meet?”
“About a month ago,” I admit, skipping the details of how.
“And we’re just hearing about her now?” Mom asks.
“We’ve been keeping it… quiet.” I shift on the couch. “Rayne is running for mayor against my candidate.”
A hush follows, thick and heavy, like the cabin pressure building after takeoff.
My father speaks first. “You’re political rivals.” Not a question. A warning. “This could be a local scandal, DK.”
“We’re being careful.” I hold his gaze. “Rayne has far more to lose than I do, which is why this stays only with us and Neo. Yes, it’s risky. But she’s the one I want.”
“Campaigning is already grueling work,” he says, concerned. “Adding a secret relationship with the opposition on top of that… It’s a heavy load on you.”
He and my mother exchange the kind of weary look shaped by D.C. and the hard road back. I’ve carried that look like a debt I could never repay—the fear, the tears, the worry that still shadows their eyes.
But telling Luna the truth, finally allowed me to give myself some grace… maybe even forgiveness. Which means it’s time to address the real thing hanging over us.
“I didn’t collapse because of work stress,” I say, keeping my voice even and direct. “I collapsed because I pushed my system too far for too long. That doesn’t make me fragile.”
“We don’t see you as fragile, DK,” my mom says, choking up. “We worry because we love you.”
“I know, Mom. But it’s there in the way you all look at me like you’re waiting for it to happen again. It feels like that’s all you see. The version of me that fell apart.”
My father exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping an inch. “We never wanted you to feel that way.”
“But I do,” I press on, because I need it said. “Every time you ask me about sleep, or if I’m eating. I know what you’re really asking. I need you to trust me. Trust that I’m taking care of myself. Trust that I’m never going back to that place again.”
“DK is right,” Gogo declares with absolute conviction, the way she does when her mind is made up. “That isinyama still sits among us. It makes our house heavy, even through this thing.” She sweeps her hand sharply across the camera lens as if she’s brushing away cobwebs. “We clean the trail of it now. We leave it behind.”
“Yebo,” my mother agrees with tears in her voice. And in the corner of the screen, my father nods once. Final. A silent pact.
“Then it’s settled,” Gogo announces. “Tell us more about this Rayne.”
I smile despite myself. “You can get to know her yourself. I’d like to bring her home for your birthday next weekend, if that’s okay.”
That lands exactly the way I knew it would. They all recognize this is serious. I’ve never brought a woman home before, let alone for a family celebration.
“Of course,” Mom says, her smile wide. “We’d love to meet her.”
